Knee Jerk Emotion and Other New Year's Eve Activity

It’s New Year’s Eve and I’m trying to relax at home with my family on a particularly cold night.

I’ve spent the last few days trying to convince myself that as soon as the year ends, I need to find the strength to turn the page.

So writing a blog was the furthest thing from my mind until I read a blog from a fellow writer. She has one of those personalities that make it tough to see the depth of her pain. And I have long suspected she is the closest to an example of a true textbook optimist.

This is a good thing in my opinion. I am, on the other hand, the kind of textbook pessimist; the kind that move shrinks to prescription pads. That attitude helped me do my job over the years

So it was this blog, in which this open-hearted young woman talks about a physical wound that would not heal, that briefly caught my ire. It was her C-Section scar; the one that should have taken weeks to heal but instead took months.

Being one of her followers, I understood what that child means to her. She has written openly about the difficult loss of a pregnancy. I understand there was a great deal of sacrifice on her and her husband’s part to have this child. I am fortunate to be a mother. My life would be empty without my son.

But my initial reaction to her blog was a selfish one. My anger bubbled. I sat back in my chair as tears welled. Why? Some of us have suffered a great deal more than a f*ck*ng scar, I thought.

I can still feel the emotion that rushed through me the minute my company cut my job and the jobs of hundreds of my fellow co-workers, editors and writers. My husband did not have steady work then. It felt as if my insides collapsed. And the only thing I could think is, what will become of my family? My son?

I haven’t gotten a dream job. Instead I’ve been met with stoic faces and sterile business offices. What’s worse than that? I was used to open doors. Now I hit send buttons to email addresses or web addresses. Feedback is getting an acknowledgement that the application was received.

A tough year in my life is defined pulling my son out of his recreation swim classes, county soccer program (which we were able to return to thanks to a friend) and hockey lessons for lack of money.

A tough year in my house is defined by the number of:

• Calls we get from creditors day in, day out.
• The number of holes in my g*dd*mned sneakers before I spent money I did not have to replace them with ones special I found.
• Night’s I’ve sat up crying, praying or simply pacing because I’m out of tears.
• Of rejection letters and emails that assure me I was qualified but they would proceed with other candidates, “but please reapply.”

How much tougher can it get? The truth is, much tougher. And I have not had it much tougher than that. Others have.

A long time ago, the television show “Ally McBeal” had a curious line. When asked by a friend what made her problems bigger than those of others, Ally responded, “They’re mine.”

I hold my troubles close to the vest. And the other columnist? Her troubles are deeply hers and no less painful.

When I step back, I realize how blessed I actually am. We’ve had the loving emotional support of family who has come to our aid, helping to give us a Christmas. My mother-in-law who did everything in her power to make sure her grandson did not suffer, a father-in-law who went to the ends of the earth to find a new tire rim when misfortune struck our car. I have two sisters who fed us during the holidays

I had a friend who handed me cash. CASH. She cleverly suggested I opened her Christmas card at home. I find what in my mind was a staggering amount of cash. I have friends who send me emails with job suggestions and lift me up.

I have a son who rarely if ever complains. I have a husband who holds me when I cry and cheers the loudest when I succeed. We enjoyed a fireworks show for free thanks to our great city and several amazing events at our school, also free.

We’ve enjoyed holiday events, book fairs, even Christmas lights free of charge thanks to the generous nature of local neighborhoods, businesses, shopping malls, cities and our libraries.

And I kick off next year with a return to my college counselor and a job interview.

We are blessed. Perhaps I’ve just allowed myself to get too beaten down. Perhaps I’ve been defined by my problems for too long.

It might just be time to turn the page.